


As You Are

by FasterPuddyTat



Series: A Brief Interlude in Red and Blue [1]
Category: Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Alien Cultural Differences, Alien Sex, Comfort/Angst, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-07
Updated: 2019-01-07
Packaged: 2019-10-05 23:44:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17334611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FasterPuddyTat/pseuds/FasterPuddyTat
Summary: Garrus just wants something to go right. Shepard won't let it go wrong.





	As You Are

**Author's Note:**

> First time posting a fic! I am so in love with these two, I want all the things to go right for them. I was streaming Hildegarde von Bingen while I wrote, so I blame her for the strong musical influence. I'm posting it pretty rough. May come back to edit and look forward to any suggestions you have!

“Dammit, Garrus.” 

She rose to press her forehead against his in a movement nearly violent. He leaned into her, a nervous whine in his subvocals as her fingers traced his softness where plate seamed into dusky skin. 

“Shepard, I… are you sure that you want…”

“Garrus.” Her pressure increased. Now four small, surprisingly sharp fingernails found purchase on sensitive turian skin. His whine dropped to something deeper, a growl reverberating from his chest to hers. Breath hitched in her throat but she knew he needed to hear it aloud.

“I want you. As you are. Don’t give me what you think a human is. Stop worrying about what you can’t be.” A shallow, shuddering breath meant to calm. It did not. “I don’t want a human. I don’t love a human. I love you, Garrus. I want _you_.” 

She drew back to pierce both crystal eyes with hers. He accepted this gaze, returned it twice heated. Did so without a thought, where so many others before him would quail. _God_ she loved that. Loved his acceptance, his unfailing, unflinching loyalty, his dry observations and the immense trust he had for her, the precise opposite of blind. 

He hated being blind.

“There is nothing you could do that would drive me away. I could never find any part of you strange or grotesque.” She dropped her hand from his neck to trace the inner ring of his cowl, skin less sensitive, more alien, the hard flecked chitin edged as a basalt cliff, the dusty spiced scent of him. “There is no one I trust more at my six. No one I’d rather have by my side or sharing my bed.”

He caught her hand, brought it to his scarred jaw. Shivers raced down her arm as his breath slipped down its length. “Shepard. I just, I still don’t believe… you have no idea how long I have thought about this moment.”

She smiled, because she did. Her thumb swept over the blue mark below his eye. Blue for Palaven. Blue for their blood. She remembered thinking his colony markings were stark, unusual and strong, when they met. The first human Spectre and the cocky, brilliant detective. They were so much more now, but they had lost so much along the way. His eyes closed. He sighed and leaned into her touch. “No,” he said. “You knew the whole time, didn’t you.”

“You’re an open book, old friend,” she said.

Mandibles twitched in his wry grin. She was getting better at reading turian expressions. “Yeah well, you were the first to look past the cover,” he replied.

She sighed. It would be enough, she decided. Garrus, finally free of his heavy armor, in her hands and between her legs, the heat from his body suffusing her muscles, the warmth of his breath on her neck. If this was his limit, she thought, it could be hers as well. She slid out from under him, pressed her thigh against the yielding flesh of his waist to draw him down to the bed with her. 

He loosed a sudden growl at the contact, his eyes lancing hers with fresh, predatory intent. Oh. He pulled her hips hard against his, plates scraping soft human skin as she settled atop him but she was beyond the pain. His head rested on the edge of the bed, fringe clear of the hard military issue mattress. 

Their positions reversed, she felt his lower plating begin to flex and give, a delicious friction on her heated cleft. She moaned when his tip slipped free, shifted to nestle it tight against her opening. A fierce tremor ran through him as he fought every instinct driving him toward _heat_ and _wet_ and _yes_ and _bond_ …

“Shepard,” he panted, “Sloane.” She saw the difficulty, the urgency of his question. She stilled her hips, pressed her palms into his rough, plated keel. He breathed deep against them. “Do you accept me, as a mate?”

Her heart twisted like a knife in her chest. Her lungs grew as though to burst. Her voice gave a strangled cry when mind caught at last what body had known, always.

“Garrus. Yes.” She felt another wracking breath tear through her. She crumpled to his hard chest and whispered into his neck, “I love you to the edge of life, and beyond.” 

He rumbled a deep, purring growl and stroked her sides with his curled talons. He raised her chin, fixed her with eyes full of intent as his cock slipped free of its confine and darted to hers, a quick, alien jab easy as a sudden breath. She sucked air between her teeth expecting pain, but there was none. He stilled within her, watching, waiting for her to move first, as they had so many times before. She felt faintly the pulsing of his heart inside her, its rhythm different, beloved at once. 

She smiled and rocked her hips on him, pushed herself up to better watch him respond. He thrust against her and she moaned low in her throat. He snarled in reply and in the next thrust his girth nearly doubled, sudden pressure against a knot of pleasure even she hadn’t yet discovered. His plating pressed on her clit, a treble chord amplified, sweetness upon sweetness counterpoint to the percussion of his hips and god she had never felt… 

He moved, rose up to press his chest into hers, bowed his head and drew his rough tongue across her clavicle. She trembled and sighed. He thrust into her again from this new angle and her head snapped back, mouth open in a silent gasp. He had grown again, shifted somehow and delicious slippery friction from their mixed fluids woke every nerve in her core and made them sing. 

“Garrus,” she breathed, “more, harder, I want…”

And in a single movement she was beneath him, her legs wrapped around his narrow waist his long, powerful arms to either side and he drove himself into her with a growl so low she felt it in her gut. 

“Are you sure?” His subharmonics were rich and teasing. “Didn’t the good doctor warn you about, ah, chafing?”

She reached under his fringe, drew her nails against the smooth plate below and he shuddered in reply, another deep thrust into her with closed eyes but he opened them again, questioning her still.

She smiled. “You should know by now that a little chafing isn’t going to keep your commander from seeing her mission through.”

“Spirits,” he breathed. “Look at you.” A taloned finger traced the outline of a scrape on her ribs, trailed up to a small scratch reddened with a smear of blood, the cut already healed over with new skin. She felt him shift back, that incredible pressure lessening. “Shepard I…”

She pressed a finger to his mouth. “Don’t start doubting me now,” she said. “If I say I can handle it, I can. If I say I want it, I do.” She stroked his scarred mandible. “Just swear to me, Garrus,” he focused at the sound of his name on her tongue, “swear to me that you won’t do anything you’re unwilling to. We’re both working in the dark, here, Joker’s vids aside.” 

He shook his head, chuckling. She grinned up at him and swept her hand against his scars, trailed her fingers on the soft skin of his throat. He purred, melting into her touch. “If I cross a line, I want to know,” she said. “I promise, I’ll do the same.”

“There’s no one in this entire, screwed up galaxy I trust more than you,” he said. “If you cross any lines I’ll be right there, crossing them with you.”

A wild, nearly girlish giggle escaped her throat. He perked, instantly aroused at this unexpected, vulnerable sound. His hips nudged against her and she ground against him, encouraging him to reach deeper. He resumed his pace, steady, long strokes each delving just, slightly, farther, than the last. 

She wondered at her silence. She’d had a whole speech prepared, but for once, she hadn’t needed it. A warmth spread throughout her as she realized, she trusted him completely, too. No lines, then. No social constructs about right or wrong, dirty or clean. Her fingers ran down his plated chest, lingering in the crevices of him. He closed his eyes against her touch, that purring growl thrumming through them. 

When her fingers had slid the length of his plate, she spread the flat of her hands around the softer suede of his waist, pressing and drawing pressure around and down toward his hips. His response was immediate. Again she felt him shift within her. She glanced up. The ancient predator stared out from his face, made it unfamiliar, dangerous. A thrill ran the length of her body. She was a warrior, and a warrior gazed back at her.

What she couldn’t know, was that he saw the same. 

He had always considered the human animal a strange beast. Their bodies were so badly made; with that soft skin, calcium-based skeletons both brittle and heavy, terrible eyesight, unstable legs. Those omnivorous teeth? The idea of choking to death because they lacked proper throats? He was amazed they had grown past sentience into sapience. 

Here though, his most sensitive skin rippling and singing with her instinctive touch, the steel trap of her mind that caught every moan and sigh, he saw at last the inevitability of human evolution. He saw in her form, in that moment, the apex predator she called ancestor. He knew then the determination, the fierce, bloodthirsty intelligence, the endurance and cleverness of ancient humans. 

For the first time, his blue blood greeted an equal in red.

A shudder claimed him and he reveled in it for the briefest moment. She dug her sharp nails into his waist, skirting just over his hips. He felt one pierce his hide and the pain was overcome with a wave of ferocity. His hand wrapped around her waist, long fingers talon tipped, blunted for this but still sharp enough and they drew pinpricks of blood where they marked her. She gasped as he drove into her, grey eyes open watching him, every nerve ending exulting in choral perfection and as she reached the crest of this pleasure, the orgasm that contorted her face, trembled her legs and turned her arms to iron followed perfect rondo form with each new thrust of his hips against her and it drew him in, in, in. 

He watched the wave crest and break, felt her sex contract around him. He fell into his most natural habit, and followed her lead. He closed the space between them, placed his mouth on her shoulder resting sharp carnivore teeth lightly against her skin. 

Her hands never wavered. One gripped at the base of his spine radiating shivers from her small, clever fingers, the other stroked beneath his fringe. He had a fleeting image of her deft hands playing him, her exquisite instrument. He pressed the edge of his mouth against her soft skin and his hips ground against hers in a frenzy, no longer withdrawing needing only to be one, one, one… 

His hard mouth dug into her with a force she knew distantly would hurt once the endorphins slowed. Same for the talons gripping her back in his vise. She would deal with it later. This was the time for urging, for taking. Her fingernails scraped down his neck, drawing blood. His growl cut off in a gasp, his breath a hot exhalation on purpling skin as he raised his head. 

Blue eyes sought, found grey, asking. She breathed, please. She felt him go rigid, felt his sex pulse with a beat of its own, every ridge and arc of him vivid and electric in her. An answering ripple of pleasure, subtle and luscious, rose in her at his release. 

He withdrew with the final pulse, his deep blue tip catching her eye as it slid to the safety of his plates. She huffed a chuckle, wondering about the cultural and evolutionary implications of _that_ , and of course he noticed. 

“Radiation,” he said with a flick of mandible for effect. “And in the past, turian women were… ah, unpredictable after mating.”

“I can imagine,” she replied smiling. “They don’t suffer our dimorphism. A turian woman could demand things it took human women several millennia to ask for nicely.” She chewed her lip. “Explains the general lack of sexual violence in your species as well, really.” 

He started at the mention of violence. He glanced at his talons. Her blood ran slender rivulets down his thick knuckles. His heart stopped as he searched for where he’d held her in his mouth. It didn’t take long. The double divot in the gentle curve from her neck to shoulder was already deep purple, angry red lines delineating teeth and edge.

Shame overwhelmed him. He had m… he had hurt her. He rose from the bed in a single fluid motion. Her breath caught to see his animal grace unhindered by armor, but she missed the tension in the line of his plates until he had crossed the room. Alarmed, she leapt from the bed to catch his hand in hers. He let himself be stopped, but his head was lowered, and he refused to look at her.

“Garrus! What did I say? Goddammit, Vakarian, what just happened? Here I am basking in the afterglow and-”

“Look,” he said, gesturing to her bathroom, her bed. She glanced at the mess of sheets and bits of foam from her ruined pillow. Splashes and dots of red and blue, almost invisible until you really looked, smudged the basic white sheets. Her hand went to the small of her back. Tiny cuts stung at her touch, and her hand smeared red and wet. “That’s not the worst,” he mumbled. She looked at him, lost. He sunk deeper into his despair.

“Stay here,” she said. She went to the bathroom, her hand raising unbidden when she saw the mark. Gently, she traced the outline of his mouth, his teeth, and shivered when the fresh memory of his sex nearly overwhelmed her.

“Garrus Vakarian. You big… stupid… dinosaur!” She was laughing. 

He looked up in disbelief. He had hurt her. Marked her. Spirits, humans were so delicate! If she were a turian… but she wasn’t, and he had marked her as if… he shuddered. 

“Come in here.” He knew that tone. The Commander had arrived. A lifetime of duty moved him to the bathroom. She stood under the running water of her private shower, beckoned him to stand beside her. The heat of the water surprised him, warm even on his skin. He closed his eyes and let it flow over him, stinging where she had drawn blood.

The touch of her lips on his scarred mouth shocked him out of his mounting panic. He opened his eyes to find hers gazing up at him, alight with what couldn’t possibly be happiness. He wanted to speak, to explain himself, to start apologizing and never stop…

“What did we agree to, Garrus?” She looked at him, water shining in her red hair and sluicing their mixed blood from her skin. He just looked at her, trying and failing to turn her into a big gun, a huge gun that had never been calibrated, not even once. She punched his arm. Hard. “Garrus. What. Did. We. Say.”

He couldn’t answer. He could only see the mark. His mark. What he-

She stroked it, lovingly. He blinked. “You, aren’t mad at me? What I did, that mark…” She stilled his words with another kiss. He leaned into her now. This, kissing, thing was alien to him, but with the flush creeping up on her neck and her arms around his neck and his arms slowly wrapping her drawing her close… he thought he might get used to it, some day. 

Hot water streamed down as they kissed. Her tongue slipped into his mouth and ran across his teeth. He startled, but he was never startled for long. He answered her with his own. 

A harsh beeping roused them. Shepard snorted, “One minute left.” He raised a brow plate. “Even commanders take rationed showers,” she said. “Here, you scrub my back, and I’ll scrub yours.”

They managed to wash most of the night away before the water cut out. They dried quickly between rough towels and ship air. Shepard chucked crumpled sheets and the pillow casualty off to one side, and they laid down on the bed, sharing the remaining pillow, regarding each other. Garrus leaned his forehead down to rest gently on hers. He caressed her back, talons curved to slide harmlessly against her skin. She drew her fingers gently down the side of his neck, drawing a deep, contented purr from his chest. 

“You panicked,” she said, soft accusation under her tone.

He chuckled. “I did,” he said. “I’ve never, ah…” He placed a gentle finger on the spot he’d bitten her. “In turian culture, that, is not a random act of passion.”

Her fingers stopped. “Explain?”

“If you were turian, and you allowed me to, well, mark you there, like that… it would mean, a, ah, a promise… had been made.” He exhaled. Looked at her. Saw, ah spirits, saw understanding in her grey eyes. Understanding, and laughter. He thought a question at her, wondering if she would pick it up. They could read each other this way across an active battlefield, but he’d never tried off one. 

Her smile grew. “I know, you big, stupid dinosaur. I do have the extranet. Honestly, I admire your frugality. Human custom encourages jewelry and, well…” she held up her hand. Her nails were cut short, palm and pads heavy with calluses from weapons and CQC. He took it in his own, stroking the web of her thumb with the pad of his. 

“I don’t know if any of us will survive this,” she said. “No one else has, but no one else has done a lot of the things we have together, and lived to see the other side.” She gripped his hand. “I do know this. If this is the last day I draw breath, I want to draw each one promised to you, Garrus Vakarian.” 

His throat closed around whatever words he might have had. He dropped his head to nuzzle into her neck, and she embraced him fiercely.

She pulled back after a moment and smiled, her grey eyes softer than he’d ever seen them. “Does this count?” 

“Count, as what?” His voice was thick, his thoughts a cacophony.

“As something going right.” 

He closed his eyes. Rested his head on hers. Felt a surge of emotion he wasn’t sure he’d ever name. Breathed in the scent of her red hair, her soft skin. Spice, musk, moss. Gunmetal and recycled air. Faintly, sunshine and rain. As she was.

“Yes.”

**Author's Note:**

> A tip of my hat to @deustiel for reminding me where I grabbed the headcanon of certain turian customs and anatomy. I read Enemies Like You and Me, and the sequel Allies Like You and Me, right at the very beginning of my foray into fan fic, but my brain let me down and I forgot the name of the works. Credit where it's due!


End file.
